


Dreaming of You

by gothclark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothclark/pseuds/gothclark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dreams of someone he never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Misachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misachan/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta reader.  
> Disclaimer: Just playing.

Darkness surrounded him.

Dean ran down the alleyway, glancing behind him. He knew he shouldn't look but the sound of running footfalls was increasing. He had to look to see how far away his pursuer was from catching up with him.

The sounds stopped abruptly. Dean slammed against a wall and caught his breath. He couldn't remember how he got here. He couldn't even remember where here was and why he'd come, but he knew he was in danger and couldn't stick around to find out what the hell it was. When he turned around to start running, he came face to face with a man in a trench coat.

"Remember, Dean," the man said though his lips never moved. Lightning flashed overhead, highlighting his face and exposing stark-blue, sorrow-filled eyes.

Dean knew him - except he couldn't remember ever meeting the man. He reached out to grasp the man to see if he was real, stumbling backward when the image of wings flared up behind the man's shoulders.

* * *

Dean sat up in bed, the buzz of the alarm filling the room.

Sam, dressed and sitting at the foot of the other bed, paused in his task of putting on his shoes.

"The dream again?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. He climbed from the bed and trudged to the bathroom, closing the door behind him before Sam had a chance to say anything more. Dean didn't want to talk about it and he knew Sam would and right now, just when he'd been on the verge of figuring out something, he didn't need his brother droning in his ear.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked strung out. He felt even worse.

Dean didn't feel any better after a hot shower. He went out to the main room to find Sam gone, probably out for a coffee run. Nudging the ugly curtain aside, Dean noticed the Impala still parked out front so Sam must have walked to wherever. Dean trudged to the bed, sitting to reach for his duffle. He intended to get dressed, but instead sat staring at the floor deep in thought, wondering who the man was in his dream and why was he was haunting him.

Shaking the questions from his mind, Dean dressed in a hurry. Just as he finished slipping into his boots, his phone rang and Dean picked it up.

"You don't write, you don't call? What's up with that?" Bobby's gruff voice was on the other end.

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean said. He sat back down on the bed. "What's up?"

"A job." Bobby relayed the pertinent information while Dean wrote down the details. He hung up just as Sam walked into the room with two coffees on a tray and a paper bag he set on the small table.

"That better be a double shot of caffeine," Dean said, reaching for the cup Sam offered. Sitting down at the table, Dean opened the lid of his laptop before groping for the contents of the bag and pulling out a croissant. He sneered at the fancy pastry but it didn't stop him from taking a big bite. Sam sat down across from him.

"Where to next?" Sam munched his croissant and sipped his coffee.

"Bobby called about a job in Fox Lake, Wisconsin," Dean said, finishing off his pastry. He brushed crumbs from his hands and gulped down the rest of his coffee. "Something's killing people and burning out their eyes."

"Burning," Sam said with a look of distaste. He finished the rest of his pastry and stood up, moving to his already packed duffle. Sam heaved the bag over his shoulder preparing to take it out to the car. "Did he say anything else, like what he thought it might be?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope, just that there have been three deaths already."

They were twelve hours away from Fox Lake. They finished packing up and less than thirty minutes later Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala, his favorite place to be. He loved the feel of the engine rumbling through him and the sight of the road before him. When Dean drove he could leave all troubles on the backburner. Dean watched the clear road before him while Sam shuffled through their father's journal.

"Anything in there about burnt-out eyes?" Dean asked. He almost smiled and shook his head at the crazy inquiry thinking, _How many people had jobs where you need to ask that about?_

Sam raised his head from reading and shook his head. "Nothing."

"Keep looking," Dean said. They were still within town limits, so he needed to slow down for some traffic. The sign to the exit he wanted loomed ahead. "Who knows, maybe it's encrypted."

For the next few hours, Sam silently flipped through the pages of the book while Dean tapped fingers on the steering wheel and tried not to dwell on the strange dreams he'd been having. _Who was that man? What did he need Dean to remember?_ The questions had been haunting him for weeks, ever since the first time he'd had the dream. Dean wasn't even sure if it had something to do with a case. Maybe it didn't. Maybe he was just having freaky nightmares because in their line of work, freaky nightmares would be the norm.

The sign for a small town loomed ahead. Sam pointed to indicate they might want to pull in for a break and some more coffee. It wouldn't hurt to find a place with free Wi-Fi so they could do some research on what they might be dealing with once they arrived in the town.

Dean pulled on to the off ramp and, within a few minute, they found a coffee shop that offered free Internet access. They settled into some hard seats in a distant corner and Sam connected to the net with his laptop. Dean leaned forward with his elbows on the table, fiddling with his coffee mug.

"Anything?" he asked, taking a sip.

Sam looked up and smiled. "Dude, I just got online. Give me a few seconds." He bent his head and concentrated on his task.

Dean yawned, which was strange since he wasn't tired. Leaning back, he sighed, staring out the window at the passing pedestrians, thinking that if any of the friendly small town people caught even a whiff of the things Dean had seen, they'd crap their drawers. Dean smiled at a pretty, blonde woman who'd caught his eye. She frowned and looked away.

"Okay, not-so-friendly small town," Dean muttered. He leaned forward and rested his head on his arms.

* * *

The forest was so dark that Dean couldn't see. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees. A shriek filled the air. His heart pounded at the horrible sound. He'd never heard anything like it in his life.

Dean forced himself to stand, struggling to get to his feet. His hands were covered in mud, dirt, and blood. Dean tried to brush them off, but they seemed dirtier after his effort.

There was someone behind him. Dean spun on his heels, hands up to defend himself. He grabbed for a weapon only to find he had nothing on him, just the clothes on his back. _Why am I out here in the dark alone with nothing for defense?_ It didn't make sense.

The darkness changed from pitch-black to a deep purple. Dean could hear the distant sounds of music. He knew that song. He followed the sound until the strains of 'Hurt' faded away.

Dean turned and turned, trying to get his bearings. Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him in close. A cold dry hand covered Dean's mouth. Dean tried to struggle, but he was pinned against a body, and the strong arm that had him pinned was wearing beige. He tried to turn his head to get a better look at who had sneaked up and got the best of him, but he couldn't turn at all. He was trapped. Dean stopped his pointless struggles.

"Don't cry out, Dean," the voice that haunted him whispered in his ear. "This is dangerous and they might find out, but I had to reach you. You must remember." 

Without warning, Dean was free. He stumbled forward and spun around, but the man was gone. Dean was alone. The strains of the song filled the air again, followed by screams, and then someone shook his arm.

* * *

"Dean." Sam was shaking his arm, trying to wake him.

Dean sat up, heart thumping in his chest. "They're hurting him!" He blurted the words though he had no idea what they meant. Dean swiped at his chin, confused. He'd fallen asleep despite the fact that he hadn't been tired.

"What," Sam said. "Who's hurting who?"

Dean took a moment to understand what Sam was babbling on about. He tried to focus, tried to figure out why he was in a coffee shop with Sam when he should be.... Actually, he didn't know _where_ he should be, but something deep down inside screamed that everything was wrong.

"I don't know," Dean said, rubbing his eyes to erase the sleep from them, but nothing seemed to help. He felt exhaustion in every bone in his body. Dean picked up his half-empty, cold cup of coffee and slid from his seat to get a fresh cup. When he returned to the table, Sam had closed the lid of his laptop and sat with his gaze locked on Dean.

"You can't keep doing this," Sam said. He leaned forward to get in closer so that no one would hear him. Dean sipped his coffee, his own gaze unfocused.

Dean nodded absentmindedly at what Sam said next. He reared back when Sam snapped his fingers before Dean's face.

"Don't snap at me," Dean growled, glaring a warning at Sam. The argument was not happening as far as he was concerned.

Sam ignored him, like always. "We need to put a stop to these nightmares."

"Oh yeah, genius. Where do you propose we start?" Dean felt anger building in him, about to explode. He didn't want to have the conversation, especially not in a public place. He stood and picked up his coffee, turning to leave. He didn't bother to look back to see if Sam followed. Dean stopped at the Impala and took a deep breath. He set the paper cup on the roof and leaned against his car, arms up on the roof. He wrapped his hands around the warm cup of coffee and rested his head against his arms.

"Dean, come on," Sam said. A warm hand rested on Dean's shoulder.

"I don't know, Sammy. All I see is this guy and I don't know who he is but he knows me and he's begging me to save him. He screams in my dreams." Dean straightened and turned on Sam, forcing Sam to take a step back. "He's begging me to save him and I don't know who or where he is." Dean took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. He hadn't told Sam any of the details before.

"Then we save him," Sam said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Dean stared for a long moment, unsure if Sam was being serious or just making fun of Dean. "How do we save someone we can't even find?"

"I don't know, but we have to do something or this is going to keep happening."

* * *

The air in the car was heavy with silence. After a long argument about whether they should continue on the job, they were back on the road. Dean didn't think he'd made a good case for continuing on their course, but what other choice did they have. There was nothing they could do about the dreams. He was too tired to think straight and the thoughts of who haunted his dreams swam through his mind, but he wondered if getting some rest would help him focus. Dean leaned back in the passenger seat, closing his eyes. He knew the risk of falling asleep but he was desperate. He needed to sleep.

* * *

The road lay before him. Dean jerked awake, and smacked Sam who swerved and screeched to a halt at an angle on the silent, dark road. They were alone.

"I told you not to let me fall asleep," Dean said.

"Don't hit me! I was driving." They glared at each other until Dean blinked and looked away with a deep sigh. He stared out the window at the darkness.

"You just startled me."

"I startled you." Sam steered the car back on the road, continuing the drive. They didn't say anything for a moment.

"Good thing I woke on my own," Dean said.

"Yeah, good thing." Sam's tone was anything but grateful. "Any dreams this time?"

"Nothing." Dean watched the road, shaking his head. Something on the side of the road caught his eye. He turned his head but what ever it was had vanished.

"Hey, I was thinking," said Sam. He nudged Dean who turned his attention to Sam. "Maybe we should go at this a different way. Remember that dream root we used a few years back?"

Dean nodded, eyeing Sam with suspicion. The thing Dean remembered most about the incident was how much he hated the whole experience. He didn't want to go there, but maybe if he could control the dream he could turn the whole thing to his advantage and end the nightmares for good.

"Okay, I'm game." The moment Dean said the words, Sam pulled off the first exit with a sign leading to a small town. Dean didn't even notice the name of the town until they were on Main Street, searching for a motel to stage their dream excursion. The motel was just as dingy and gross as any other, except for the mirrors on the ceiling. Dean smirked at the cracked and warped tiles, flopping on the bed while Sam called Bobby to see if he had any contacts that would help them acquire the root they needed. Dean could hear Bobby's arguments through the phone from where he lay. He smiled at the grumpy man and his penchant for yelling, especially at them.

Once Bobby was finished berating them, he agreed to bring them the root, which suited them, as they would need someone still awake to shake them into consciousness just in case anything went awry.

Dean sat at the small table that looked as though it had seen better days, watching Sam pace across the room. He wanted to tell Sam to stop, but knew it was just nerves driving him at that point. He emptied his second bottle of beer and reached for his third. They both jumped at the knock at the door. Sam rushed to the door, peeking through the peephole before opening it and inviting Bobby to enter the room.

"I still think you two are screwy to want to mess with this shit, but here I am," Bobby said with a shrug of his shoulders. He swept his gaze around the room with a sneer. Dean couldn't tell if Bobby was disgusted by the room or by Dean's drinking. He didn't much care. All he wanted was to get the whole thing over with so he could move on with his life. He needed to get some answers and, for the first time in weeks, Dean felt like maybe he just might.

Dean gulped his beer and set the empty down on the table. It fell over and Dean straightened the bottle, rattled by the sudden noise. Nerves jangled, Dean reached for another beer.

Bobby sighed and held a crumpled paper bag out for Sam to take.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, accepting the offering. He moved to the small kitchenette and turned his attention to the task of preparing the root. Bobby sat down on the other wooden chair across from Dean, who offered Bobby a beer. They drank in silence at first.

"You look like crap," Bobby said. He finished his beer and set the empty down at his feet.

"Thanks," Dean said, leaning forward to rest his head against his arms.

Silence fell between them and the only sound was Sam moving across the room. He set to cups filled with an amber liquid down on the table. They each added the final ingredient: DNA. Sam and Dean then moved to their respective beds and sat down.

Sam held his glass up with a sickly grin. "Bottom's up."

Dean stared into his glass with a wince, anticipating the terrible taste. He closed his eyes and drank. It didn't take long for the tea to do its thing. Dean lay back with his eyes closed. He wasn't even sure where to go or what to do. He had no clue where to start. He didn't even know what to call the guy in his dreams.

It didn't help that the sun was too bright. Dean raised a hand to block the rays, squinting. He was alone in a field, wondering how had he'd gotten there.

"Sam?" Dean turned around, scanning the area. There was nothing, just a field of dead grass and fallen trees and he was standing in the center. A memory of the place flashed in his mind. He remembered suffocation, digging, clawing, and finally freedom. _Why?_ He looked down at his feet at the upturned earth. Dean stepped back against someone. He spun around to find that there was no one there. He was still alone.

"Sammy!" Dean felt panic build in his chest. He ran, unsure which direction to take, but needing to do something even if it was just running in panic. Dean stopped and listened. He could just make out the sound of distant calls. Someone was calling his name. Dean ran in the direction of the noise, picking up speed. His feet pounded on the ground. Dean ran faster, trying in desperation to get to that sound. It had to be Sam. Thoughts of fatigue were his enemy. He needed to run harder and faster but, no matter what he did, he just couldn't.

He seemed to run forever, but didn't get anywhere. When he stopped, panting, he leaned forward to catch his breath and found himself on the exact same spot he'd started.

"Fuck," Dean said. The word echoed around him. He ran his fingers through his hair, turned on the spot, spinning around. "No. You can't fucking do this to me. I'm in charge."

"Dean."

Dean turned and turned, but saw no one. He was alone in the field.

"Remember."

He was in the dark, flat on his back. Dean resisted the urge to scream. It wasn't fair. He couldn't take control. No matter how hard he thought about what he wished to do, he only seemed to be alone for some lunatic ride and there was no getting off. Someone or something would not let him. Dean calmed himself.

"Okay, fine. You win." He took a deep breath. "Where am I?" Dean reached out and touched a solid object. He seemed to be in a box.

"I am sorry to do this to you, Dean." 

Dean patted his pocket and fished his lighter out, flicking it on to see that he wasn't alone. There was someone in the box with him, lying down beside him. Dean held the lighter higher. The man had short, dark hair with deep-set, blue eyes.

"I need you to remember me, please." The sorrow-filled tones echoed.

A name came to Dean.

_Castiel._

The darkness vanished replaced by bright sunlight. The box was gone. Dean no longer lay inside his coffin. He scrambled to his feet, shaking. The memory flooded back, stark and real. That was where he'd been. He'd had to claw his way out of his own grave. He remembered.

_Hell._

Dean fell to his knees.

A scream shattered the air.

"Wake up." 

Dean was shaken awake. He sat up in the bed and stared into Sam's fear filled eyes.

"Shit. Finally," Sam said. He fell back on his haunches.

"What?" Dean scanned the room. Bobby stood a few feet away. He looked as upset as Sam.

"You were out for two days. We couldn't get you to wake up," Bobby said.

"Castiel. His name is Castiel and he's an angel," Dean said. His memories were returning in chunks. "He saved me from Hell."

The words hung in the air like an omen. Sam and Bobby stayed silent, both men at a loss for words.

"Dean, you got yourself out of Hell," Sam said, breaking the silence. 

Dean turned his attention to Sam. "See, that's what I don't get. How did I get myself out? It's always been in the back of my mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I made it, but how does someone get out of Hell?"

Bobby and Sam looked to each other then Sam shrugged.

Dean turned to Bobby, waiting for an answer. Bobby always seemed to have his finger on the pulse of everything supernatural, but not this time.

"Good looks and charm?" Bobby said with a shrug. "How should I know? We just accepted that it happened and moved on. Maybe we shouldn't have."

Dean swiped a hand across his face and stood up, pacing the length of the room. He couldn't let it slide. There was something going on. There were weird gaps in his memory, memories of conversations that he'd had but he couldn't remember with whom.

"Okay, this is seriously screwed up and we need to get to the bottom of all this right here and right now." Dean turned his attention to Sam. "I'm going back in."

Sam started to speak up, and Dean raised a hand to stop what he knew would be objections to the dangerous course of action.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

A half hour later, Dean had cleaned up and changed into something less pungent. Sam had only brewed one cup of tea. Dean was going in alone. He didn't want Sam to get caught up in whatever was in Dean's dreams and stopping him from getting to Castiel. He had a feeling that whatever had made him forget was dangerous.

Dean sat down on his bed and drank the tea. Within moments, he fell back, lost to the waking world again. His last thought was how much he hated to do that to Sam.

* * *

The forest was too dark for Dean to see, but then Dean decided that he could see in the dark so things got a whole lot brighter.

"Okay, I know you're here."

Dean blinked and his surroundings changed. He was in a park beside a bench, where a man in a beige trench coat was sitting. The man seemed to be focused on something before him, although the park was otherwise empty, then he looked up at Dean, his eyes filled with regret and longing. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Castiel looked tired and broken.

"Cas." Dean said the name with affection because he knew. He just hadn't told Sam that all his memories of the mystery man had returned, or almost all.

Dean sat down on the bench beside him.

"You remember me," Castiel said, exhaustion in his words and his posture. Dean reached out, pulling Castiel in close to wrap arms around him. The hug felt like home.

"I'm sorry. I can't believe I forgot," Dean said in apology, then they kissed, tender and affectionate.

It was going to be hard to explain to Sam, but there was no way he would leave Castiel behind again. Castiel's arms tightened around Dean.

"We're going home."

Dean woke with a weight on him. When he opened his eyes, Castiel lay on top of him, his soft blue eyes warming Dean. Castiel rolled off Dean and sprawled on the bed beside him. Dean swallowed hard in anticipation of what he would say to Sam.

He didn't need to worry. Sam pulled Castiel to his feet and hugged him.

Together again, they would have to deal with the consequences and prepare for the cadre of angels that would be rushing to punish their brother.

End


End file.
